


Stupid

by thegrendel



Category: Original Work
Genre: Other, Pedophilia, Punishment, Revenge
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-11
Updated: 2018-07-11
Packaged: 2019-06-08 21:15:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15252213
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thegrendel/pseuds/thegrendel
Summary: You're a little girl, and an adult you trusted does nasty things to you. You feel like killing yourself, but wait, there's help.





	Stupid

" _Corliss?_ What kind of stoo-pid name is _that_?"

When you're an eleven-year-old girl, it's the little cruelties of everyday  
life that hurt the most.

"It's the damn name my parents gave me. Want to make something of it?"

 _Back off_ , said the Voice in my head.

I wanted nothing more than to knock Joey's front teeth, braces and all,  
straight down his throat but, as usual, the Voice was right. He was  
bigger and stronger than me, and the teeth getting knocked down someone's  
throat would probably be my own.

 

If you hear voices in your head, you've got to be _goofy_ , right?  
Well, maybe not. Not if you only hear just the one voice and that voice  
makes sense, mostly, and listening to it keeps you out of trouble.

Sometimes I really get mad at that stupid voice. It's like listening to  
my parents. "Don't do this, don't do that. Yakkety yak." _Boring_.

Like the time I wanted find out more about, you know, sex. Of course, I'm  
curious. It's that big, bad hairy secret those stupid grownups hide from  
us kids. Like they think they're protecting us from something horrible,

Anyway, my sometimes best friend Marcy wanted me to look at this  
_dirty_ book her older brother had hidden under his mattress. About  
_naked_ men and women _doing it_ and . . .

. . . And the Voice said it was all a pack of lies, that this porno stuff  
was totally screwed up and it would give me wrong ideas and mess up  
my mind. So, of course, I had to find out for myself and I grabbed  
the book and looked. Well, I didn't know if I should laugh or barf up my  
breakfast. Imagine, the man sticks that _thing_ into the woman's  
. . . Why would anyone want _that_ inside them?
    
    
    Because when you get older, your body changes. And then you get these
    feelings. Strong feelings. Powerful feelings. And you're terribly lonely
    And you'll do anything to hold on to your boyfriend. Anything. And after a
    while you want to believe the lies in the popular songs and the TV shows
    and the magazines. And the lies your friends tell you. And you want to
    be a grownup and have your cherished dreams come true. And so your spine
    turns to jelly and you start believing the lies. Romantic lies. Gold-plated
    lies. Filthy, chocolate-coated lies. And you think that's what love is
    all about. And so then letting a guy stick that _thing_ inside
    you maybe isn't so bad, after all. Maybe it's even something you can
    see yourself doing with the one you love. And, hey, you can't stay a
    child forever, now can you, and this is what grownups do, after all,
    isn't it? And you want so badly to be a grownup and get married and keep
    house and have children. And you're so tired of just playing make-believe
    games. And you want to experience life as it is, real life. And this is
    real life. And it just has to feel good (all your friends tell you so,
    after all). And that's what it's all about. And . . .
    

Shut up already, Voice. I get the picture. But, you know, maybe I've  
gotta learn a few things for myself. Without you hitting me over the  
head with them. For a change.

So, then I got this bright idea. Actually, it wasn't really _my_ idea.  
This guy Mr. Jones, he had been after me for a while. Actually, I think  
he was kind of sweet on me, you know. He'd usually find some excuse to  
see me after school and sometimes buy me candy or presents. He was an  
old man, must have been like 30, or something. But, you know, he said he  
wanted to show me things, and I had kind of an idea about what kind of  
things he wanted to show me. So, I thought, why not? Here's my chance  
to learn all those secrets about _you know what_ that the grownups  
have been hiding and that the Voice didn't want to tell me about.

Well, he showed me, all right. Talked me into following him into the  
attic of his house and then the both of us played show-and-tell. Only  
I was mostly the one doing the showing and he was the one doing the  
telling. And it was starting to get really yucky after he pulled down my  
panties, but by then it was too late for me to scram out of there because  
he had locked the door, and then he slapped me when I started to cry.

He had me lying flat on my stomach and he was on top of me and I was  
squirming and trying to get out from under. Then it started really  
_hurting_ and it felt like he was prying me open and shoving  
something . . . and I thought I'd lose my mind right then and there,  
and . . . and then I heard the Voice inside my head.

_BE STRONG. You'll get past this. Know that I am with you, and I will  
help you, and together we will survive._

And so I calmed down and just let it happen. Mr. Jones did it to me,  
and when he finally let me up it hurt and afterward I felt dirty inside.

"This is our little secret," he said. "If you let anyone know, they'll  
blame _you_ for it because you wanted it. All you girls want it  
\-- that's what it says in those stories I read. And anyway, if I get  
any grief about it, I'll burn your house down and kill you and your  
family. Now, get the hell outta here, you dirty little slut!"

 

It's all my fault and I feel like killing myself.

_Get a hold of yourself. Sit down. Take a deep breath. Now, stop blaming_  
yourself. Sure, going with the guy to his house was stupid. But, at your  
age you're expected to do stupid things once in a while, though not  
necessarily with catastrophic consequences. That's what parents are for,  
after all, to provide a safety net. But, once in a while you run into  
predators. 

Why did he do this to me? I _trusted_ him.

_You're asking why grown men look to children for sexual gratification._  
Aside from being just plain warped, such men are socially inept, afraid  
of and incapable of interacting with mature women. In short, they're  
very badly screwed up folks, and your only protections against them are  
common sense and experience. The sort of experience that you pay heavily  
for. As you've seen. 

So, what do I do now?

_You'll have to consider drastic measures. This guy will want to get at_  
you again. He'll nag you and bug you, and if that doesn't work, threaten  
you. That's the way these slimebags work. 

So, I should tell my parents?

_Under ordinary circumstances that might be best. Unfortunately,_  
these aren't ordinary circumstances. This fine specimen of humanity is  
potentially dangerous. And, he happens to have considerable financial  
resources and quite a bit of influence in the community. He'd accuse  
you of lying, and he'd be more likely to be believed than you would. 

It's hopeless.

_No! You've got me on your side. Now, here's what we'll do . . ._

 

"No, I can't come over and visit. That didn't turn out so well the  
last time we tried, now did it, Mr. Jones? Well, all right, if you  
insist. Look, how about if I just go for a ride with you? You do have  
a new car, after all, and . . . "

"Gee, Mr. Jones, I see your car has tinted windows. How very convenient."

"Why is it convenient, Corliss?"

_Here's what to say. Time to use adult language, and rock him back on his  
heels a bit._

"Convenient that no one can see who's inside with you. Convenient if you  
have an underage child sitting next to you, for instance. Convenient  
for hiding your identity from the neighbors and law enforcement,  
for instance."

"You have a big mouth for a kid."

"A big mouth isn't all I've got, Mr. Jones. I also have someone very  
powerful helping me out."

"Who?"

"Would you believe an invisible friend?"

"Ha, ha. You're a strange one, all right, Corliss. Well, let's get started  
'cause I've got some mighty interesting things to show you. And maybe  
we'll take up where we left off, huh?"

 

It was an interesting ride, all right. He drove us way out into the  
country, on a lonely two-lane road by the lake, where the older kids go  
when they want to do necking and all that stuff.

"So, what do you think of what we did last time, Corliss?"

I began shivering all over, but then I heard the Voice.

_Trust me, kid. Everything will work out. Now, we'll give him the jolt._

"What do they do to child molesters, Mr. Jones?"

The tires squealed as we came to a sudden stop.

"WHAT did you say?"

"You heard me, Jones. We're talking serious jail time here. And, once  
you're behind bars, _you're_ the one getting raped. How does that  
strike you, scumbag?"

His face went dead white and his jaw dropped. He started to reach across  
to me and . . . _I jabbed him in the thigh with the poisoned dart_.  
He stiffened, then slowly slumped over the steering wheel.

"It's curare, Jonesy. This just happens to be a blowgun dart I 'borrowed'  
from the museum exhibit downtown. You'll stay paralyzed long enough for  
me to fix you up. And then, believe me, you'll stay fixed up."

I had gone over what to do a dozen times with the Voice, but now that  
it was time to do it, I was a little nervous.
    
    
        Leave the engine running. That's critically important. Now, get the
        rubber hose out of the bag you brought, and the gloves, too. They're
        insulated gloves. Put them on. They'll protect your hands and keep you
        from leaving fingerprints. Open the door on your side and walk around
        to the back of the car. Quickly slip the end of the hose over the
        end of the exhaust pipe and tape it securely. Careful, even with the
        gloves on you can get some nasty burns. Run the hose along the side
        of the car and through the open window on the driver's side. Use the
        roll of duct tape to seal up the opening of the window all around
        the hose.
    
        Walk off a little way, so you can't be seen from the road. Wait
        exactly 15 minutes by your watch (the one you got for your birthday),
        no more, no less. Good. Now, put the gloves back on and go back to
        the car. Open up the driver's side door. Give Jonesy a hard tug, so
        he falls out of the car. We don't want him to get enough of a dose of
        gas to kill him, after all. All right, now you'll walk back to town.
    

It was a long hike and I had plenty of time to think. To think of who  
the Voice was. Actually, I'd pretty much figured it out by now. The  
Voice was _me_. It was the grownup me, the me I'd be in maybe  
fifty or a hundred years. It was the future me coming back to help the  
me in the here and now. To help me get past the hard and dangerous stuff  
so I could live long enough to grow up and become the me who was the  
Voice. Kind of like on the _Twilight Zone_ , huh?

I thought of what we had done. Of Mr. Jones being brain-damaged.  
The Voice told me that carbon monoxide poisoning from the car exhaust  
would leave him in a fog. He wouldn't be able to bother or threaten  
me any more. He wouldn't remember what he had done to me or even who  
I was. He probably wouldn't even remember who _he_ was. He'd  
need help doing simple things like getting dressed and going to the  
bathroom. For the rest of his life he'd be _stupid_.


End file.
